


The Third Jello Incident

by literaryFRIVOLOUSneophyte



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Adulthood, Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Alternate Universe - The Office Fusion, Attempt at Humor, Depression, Enemies to Friends, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, POV Dave Strider, POV First Person, Stream of Consciousness, Suicidal Thoughts, Trolls on Earth, those last tags are a mood, very quickly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 19:53:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17148092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaryFRIVOLOUSneophyte/pseuds/literaryFRIVOLOUSneophyte
Summary: Your name is Dave Strider, and you can only tolerate your shitty office job by provoking Karkat Vantas.My part of the 2018 Homestuck Secret Santa, for @ kiexan on tumblr!





	The Third Jello Incident

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kiexen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiexen/gifts).



> When I saw Davekat for one of the prompts, I knew I had to do this AU that's been nagging me since I saw [this post.](https://dersenet.tumblr.com/post/179030155153/floralmarsupial-floralmarsupial-davekat-is) This was less funny than I originally intended it to be and more depressing. While some of the jokes are taken straight from the source, you don't have to be familiar with The Office to understand this.

The wheels of his chair squeak as John spins to face you. His blue patterned tie compliments the polyester lining of his tan jacket, and you can't imagine how boring his morning routine must be. _Should I wear cotton today? Might heat up in the afternoon. Perhaps the tie with the hammers on it, to spice things up. Would contrast nicely with the dark green blazer. Ah, my coffee’s ready._ His beige trousers are ironed so crisply that even his knees barely crease the fabric, but they're slightly too long, drooping on his shoes and almost touching the floor.

Over his shoulder hovers Karkat, a troll somehow even more joyless than your boss. He was hired two years ago when the company lost a discrimination lawsuit and made a huge deal out of “including trolls in the workforce,” which basically meant that everyone had to watch more training videos in the conference room with no A/C. Your branch happened to be in a neighborhood with an above-average troll population, so corporate sent a ton of photographers to appease their investors with diversity quotas.

Most of the employees here are trolls, actually. None of them react to your pranks like Karkat does. The IT guy Sollux, the receptionist Kanaya, the warehouse foreman Aradia - pretty much everyone except for you and the janitor, who only comes at night. Since you grew up in this neighborhood, you're comfortable with it. You're used to being surrounded by grey skin and horns.

The office is small enough to give Karkat an excuse for breathing down John’s neck. One desk. One chair. One degree. One cabinet filled with plaques and certificates, most from high school. And one frame containing the magazine clippings of Karkat, Terezi, Vriska, and someone who lasted less than a month before dying in a kismesis incident. John has his arms around them like a stepdad at a barbeque, grinning painfully to make up for his scowling teenagers.

There are two windows: on the right facing the cubicles, and on the left looking over the parking lot and the row of hedge bushes you once hid Karkat’s briefcase in. (Not your most elaborate prank.) You can't see your car from this angle, but you recognize Karkat’s red Honda Civic. You have dreams of that ugly fucking thing, driving past your house in a loop, blasting ABBA with every note pitched to a high C. You have a lot of dreams like that about Karkat.

Focus. Stop thinking about ABBA.

“Dave,” John begins. “Tell me what's wrong with this picture.”

“Yeah, Dave, tell him what’s wrong,” Karkat repeats in his nasally accent. The neck of his cardigan is pulled so high that his face bulges above like a fat mosquito close to bursting.

You glance at the plate of piss-yellow gelatin on John’s desk. The staple trapped inside quivers with subtle vibrations like Karkat’s chins when he opened his drawer to discover it

“What do you mean, sir?”

“Dave.”

“John.”

“David.”

“Jonathan.”

“Davidstein.”

“Jonathaniel.”

“Davidsteinson.”

“Jonathanielliams.”

A smile twitches at the corners of John's mouth, and his lips slightly part, revealing his big white front teeth with the smallest gap. It’s a disarmingly cute smile for a middle-aged man. Karkat’s smirk disappears and he regards John, you, and the plate with a sour expression, as if he just tasted the latter himself.

Then John shakes his head. “I won't take your bait this time. No more fooling around.”

“I don't know what you're implying, sir.”

“I want you to explain to me, and to your co-worker, how this stapler ended up in jello.”

“Explain to him,” Karkat jumps in, “right now! He's your boss! You have to answer to your fucking boss! This is the third time!”

“Mr. Vantas, please watch your language or I'll have to write you up again, and this time I will formally file it to make sure it goes on your permanent record.”

Karkat cowers into his cardigan. “Of course, sir.”

“Yeah, watch your fucking language,” you say.

A pause. Then, “You can’t say that! Sir! Did you hear that? Did you?! He can’t say that! He’s not allowed to say that!”

“Now hold on,” John starts, but he doesn’t say anything else.

“That is unprofessional! He’s being very unprofessional right now!”

Goading a man who was class clown in high school is easy, but it’s not as fun as it was when you first got here. The longer John stays at the company, the more desperate he becomes. You thought you would enjoy this more than you currently are. Instead, you're bored and you need to use the bathroom. Your phone vibrates in your back pocket, notifying you that now’s the perfect time to play Candy Crush on the toilet until break.

“You heard him, Mr. Vantas.” The wisps of hair above John’s upper lip disappear into his nostrils when he grins wide enough to make even you uncomfortable. At least he's having fun. “Better watch your fucking language.”

“I’m reporting this to HR!”

Karkat slams the door behind him so hard that the windows and John’s degree rattle. Terezi approaches it and knocks on the glass, exclaiming, “Did he get fired? Can I have his cubicle?”

John lets out a sigh. “What’s wrong with yours?”

Terezi gestures at her cubicle and you crane your neck to look. Vriska sits on Terezi’s desk, clipping her nails over the keyboard and stack of papers. She notices the attention on her and promptly flips you off. John waves. He’s as scared of her as everyone else in the office, but for some reason, he genuinely believes they are friends.

You think she gets off on being intimidating, and you try not to think about the time you saw her crying. It’s a blurry memory: September rain, radio static, figure in your rear-view mirror, her jacket, her mane of hair. You were too wrapped up in your own bullshit to pull over, offer her a ride. She has friends she could’ve called if she really needed it. Why should you help her? You turned the corner and took a bite of your burger. A pickle slipped out. You looked down at the smear of ketchup on your white shirt, and you wanted to die so badly at that moment that you couldn’t care less.

She saw you. She looked at you the way you look at yourself in the mirror. Why didn’t you help her? It was raining. You remember that. Her face was wet with rain. That’s all. That’s all you want to remember.

“You can email me any problems you have or we can schedule a meeting to discuss what’s making you unhappy later,” John says.

Terezi turns with a huff and goes to the bathroom, probably to cover the ceiling in spitballs. She does that whenever she’s frustrated. Vriska follows her with her eyes and then, without a hint of subtlety, ogles Kanaya’s ass as she walks to the printer. Kanaya is the overqualified receptionist working here while she takes night classes. Once, five minutes before Walmart closed, you saw her in line with lighter fluid and cat litter, and she saw you with ten bags of Cool Ranch Doritos. You have an understanding with her now.

Vriska says, “Hey, have we ever -”

“We have,” Kanaya says firmly.

You turn back to John. His hands are clasped together, and there’s no ring or tan line from one on his short, fat fingers. You wonder if he has a girlfriend. If he’s ever had a girlfriend. John gives you a conspiratorial smile and launches into a speech about “respecting your co-workers,” while winking repeatedly. 

“Here's the deal. The thing about a practical joke is that you have to know when to start, as well as when to stop, and you know Karkat’s sensitive...”

A dull pressure builds behind your eyes, and you rub your temples, pretending to listen. You really, really need to use the bathroom. Thankfully, John isn’t in the mood for more than a slap on the wrist. Sometimes he’ll keep you in his office to try and get you to go to lunch with him.

Last October, you went to a Halloween-themed drag show. You drove forty minutes to the gay bar only to stand in line for another twenty. Everyone was in costume except for you, in your sneakers and hoodie.

You asked the group of in front of you, “Is this for the drag show?”

You knew it was. You just wanted to talk.

One of them turned to you and said, “Yeah, I mean, I hope it is!”

He laughed, you laughed, and the conversation was over. For some reason, you started to cry. None of them noticed. It wasn’t their fault; you're good at hiding it. That moment - the shoulder turning away, closing you off from the group - crushed you. You didn’t know any of these people, and none of them knew you. You went back to your car and drove to McDonald’s with the intention of sleeping in the parking lot, but you didn't stay the night. Eventually you went back to the apartment, despite what waited you there. You could handle whatever happened, as long as you could play Minecraft in bed and eat the rest of the cheetos.

What can you do when you couldn’t make friends in school, even though people were forced to be around you every day for years? If you couldn’t do it then, how can you now, when everyone has a job and kids and no room in their schedule? What can you do when you don't even care anymore?

You look at John - look through John. You don't care anymore. You don't want to go to lunch with John because you don't care. You don’t want to apologize to Karkat because you don’t care. You don’t want to stand around the water cooler and learn what Terezi did to Vriska or what Vriska did to Kanaya that week because you don't care.

This epiphany dawns on you once or twice every month, but every time, you feel like you've discovered some immense truth inside yourself. You feel the world continues turning, but a subtle layer has unraveled, and nothing matters. When this happens at the apartment, you end up listening to Radiohead or watching Naruto again, reliving your middle school days when you were in love with Sasuke. You used to think, _Sasuke would understand me. I wish I was a child soldier, too._ It's silly, but returning to shows and bands that you loved so unironically when you were younger brings you a strange comfort.

“I don’t care,” you say out loud.

John blinks at you. “What was that?”

“I said, I don’t care.” 

John doesn’t say anything as you walk out. When you glance over your shoulder, he has this slack-jawed expression that almost makes you feel guilty. Almost. You're not paid enough for that.

As you pass by Terezi, you tell her, “You can have my cubicle.”

You head for the kitchen. How many times have you stood in this tiny space, eating your go-gurts? Do you eat or drink go-gurts? You’ve memorized the yellowish stains on the wall and the shape of dead mosquitoes in the light bulb while eating/drinking your mixed berry go-gurts like a zombie slurping the bone marrow out of a femur.

The coffee machine is, of course, broken, and someone’s taken your clearly labeled lunch. You continue into the employee lounge, a slightly larger space with uncomfortable chairs and vending machines.

Karkat is there. Crying.

It’s too late to pretend you didn't see him. The door shuts behind you with an audible click and he looks up, eyes rimmed with red, snot smeared on his sleeve. His cardigan is frumpled and the underarms are dark with sweat.

You clear your throat. “Uh - I’m just - ”

“Why do you hate me so much?”

The idea of you caring about anything enough to hate it makes you want to laugh, and you force it down like bile.

“Why would you think -”

“Shut up.” He can’t control the trembling of his bottom lip. “I know humans don’t hate like we do - I thought that was it, at first. I thought you were trying to flirt with me. It was so fucking cliche. But when I responded, you just... brushed it off. You weren’t trying to get my attention or anything. You were just... I don’t know why you’re doing this to me. I don’t know why. Do you hate trolls or something?”

“Dude,” you say.

His voice gets louder and louder as he continues, “You pretend to be okay with everyone else except for me, and then you go home and whine to Reddit every night about these goddamn trolls in the office.” He stands and you back up. “I bet you have a fucking Patreon! How much do you make a month, huh? How much? How much, Dave? How much? How much? Do you post about me? Do your followers laugh about how ugly and fat and stupid I am? Are there pictures of me? Do you take pictures of me and laugh?”

_“Dude.”_

He sits back down and puts his face in his hands. “God. Fuck.” He lets out a deep breath, visibly shaking. “I miss my therapist. She doesn’t take the insurance from this job anymore.”

“Um.... well, I don’t hate you. For starters.”

He looks at you between the spaces of his fingers like a man peering out of the shutters of his motel room. Something about that look catches you off guard, more than his emotional breakdown. The raw vulnerability - it scares you into confessing.

“I don’t know if I’m even capable of that.” You take the chair next to him and cross your legs because you still need to use the bathroom. “I’m, like, nothing. I don’t feel... anything.”

“Why?”

Is that it? Is that the only question he has? You guess it’s the only one that matters.

“I dunno. I mean, I do know. I just don’t like talking about it. Or, I don’t know how to? I live with my brother. He was my ‘legal guardian’ and he sucked at it. And I’m in my twenties, still living with him because he’s a SoundCloud rapper so I have to pay all the bills and that means I can’t save up for a place even in this shitty town and I don’t even know how to live on my own even if he beats the crap out of me because I’m just used to it and I know how to survive like that and I don’t know how to do anything but survive, like I don’t know how to - ” You uncross your legs and stand back up. “Okay, I have to pee really bad. Sorry. Like, really bad.” 

Karkat says, in the most calm voice he’s ever used with you, “Move in with me.”

You can't help laughing this time. Thankfully, Karkat doesn't seem too offended. He has this serious expression on his face, with his eyebrows furrowed and his back straight.

“That sounds great,” you say flatly. “Sure, let me just pack my bags and move in with this guy from work who, five seconds ago, was convinced I hated him. I’d love to live on your beet farm.”

“Beet farm? What the fuck -”

Terezi and Vriska come into the lounge. You and Karkat lapse into an awkward silence. Terezi makes her way to a vending machine and Vriska, who doesn’t acknowledge anyone else in the room besides Terezi, stands extremely close behind her.

“What about that meeting later?” Vriska says. “To discuss... finances?”

“Yes, the meeting,” Terezi says sharply, jabbing her pointer finger at the machine. “The meeting to discuss finances.”

“Are we still going to ... discuss those finances? Three o’clock?”

“We can. But don’t expect any cookies.”

Vriska tries and fails to whisper, “What if I’m hungry?”

“No. Cookies,” Terezi emphasizes. She takes her granola bar and leaves. Vriska kicks the vending machine, hisses like a feral juggalo, and limps after Terezi.

Karkat stares at you and you stare at him. His eyes are damp, but he's no longer crying. Neither of you say anything for a moment, and then you burst into laughter. You've never had someone to laugh about the office drama with before.

“Listen,” Karkat says when you collect your breath, “I need a roommate. And you need a new apartment. It's not a fucking beet farm, I promise. If you change your mind -”

Dreams of a Honda Civic flash through your mind. "You're the first in line?"

"What?"

“Nothing, nothing. Anyway, look, how do I know you’re not a serial killer?”

“What’s wrong with you? You think all trolls are psychopaths?”

“No, Jesus, I -”

“Shut up, I was teasing.” He whips out one of the office’s business cards and starts furiously writing on it. When he’s done, he pushes it towards you. “Call me. Just think about it, okay?”

“You press the pen so hard. No wonder Kanaya never lets you borrow her pens.”

“Don’t you have to use the bathroom, smartass?”

“I’ll have you know,” you say, standing up, “that my ass is dumb as hell, with an IQ of 20. My buttocks are beautiful and stupid.”

“Please stop talking.”

You stop at the doorway. “Oh yeah, I think I just quit.”

“As if John would let you escape. Who else is gonna teach him how to dab?” He snorts. “And, hey, Dave? If you touch my stapler again, I will kill you.”

“Thought you weren't a serial killer?”

“I'd made an exception for you.”

You smile at him. He smiles at you. Your heart beats like a drum in your throat and sweat stands out on your forehead. Not only did you survive a social interaction, but you think you just made a friend. On your way to the bathroom, you stare at the card and the thick numbers scrawled over the text - he really mashes those poor pens - and you think, maybe. Maybe you will.

The ceiling is covered in spitballs - Terezi works efficiently. Thankfully she left enough toilet paper in the handicapped stall. You wonder what the women’s bathroom looks like right now and shudder.

Does Karkat watch Naruto? You don't think this is going to work if he doesn't watch Naruto. Of course you start fantasizing about a man because he was nice to you one time. Maybe you'll carpool in his Honda Civic, listening to ABBA together. Maybe you'll adopt a ton of dogs for your cute apartment and wear matching cardigans. Maybe you'll laugh about the jello years from now when you're walking down the aisle.

Maybe you'll put his pens in jello.


End file.
